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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305344">seal up my black body bag</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/londondungeon2/pseuds/londondungeon2'>londondungeon2</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bendy and the Ink Machine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fear of Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Just one though, Pining, Reminiscing, Twilight Zone References</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:54:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/londondungeon2/pseuds/londondungeon2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>you are hired to study ink-demon biology - an enigmatic subject.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bendy (Bendy and the Ink Machine)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>seal up my black body bag</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Under the vermillion tunnel of a lamp, Bendy finds you with your nose nested in your elbows and asleep over an autopsy table. This sight is not anomalous - often you slumber here, spine bent like an endeavoring flower stem. I was <em> only </em>shutting my eyes, not sleeping, you will say upon waking as you massage the frigid indents on your face.</p><p>    He slinks over, soles clicking on the burnished amber wood. Obstinate arms crossing behind his back, no hint of marrowbone, pie-eyes flicker over your restful form. Hair drapes over your face, sticking into the pink burrow of your snoring mouth, drool pools from your lethargic tongue. How peaceful you look under hued light, he admires. Each few seconds the ebon pine-needles of your eyelashes twitch. It would be perhaps cruel to wake you - Bendy thinks, lips depressing on the ink trumpet sprouting from his arm. Perhaps.</p><p>    You and Bendy move quick; you jump in a cat-like panic, recoiling from your metal pillow and blinking out in a dazy as red light hits your wide optics directly, and Bendy with a swipe of gloved fingers to move the acute scalpel away from your wild hands for a precaution.</p><p>    “Jeez, I know your reflection is ugly but not ‘dat ugly, doll. <em> Woo. </em>” With sudden clarity, you pivot fast in the direction of the Brooklyn accent - eyes mantling with pique. You jump again, stern face facing a monochrome facsimile of yourself with pie-eyes that gleam like oil suspending across water. Mirthful laughter follows your second scare.</p><p>    Refusal to respect his action with a response washes over you. Glaring, you place your hands defiantly on the desolate lake of steel and resume your last position. Laughs slowly wither away as a second weight shifts the table. </p><p>    A finger touches the crown of your head. Bones stiffen under the contact. With a balling enmity brewing at the bottom layer of your stomach, you decipher the tiny taps and slices across your skull. You and him learn morse-code long ago to share secret messages in the finite (might be infinite for one of pair) stretch of time. A smile crackles across your face as a ‘hello’ is tapped on you. You thought he had almost forgotten about it; the memory could easily be pulped out into ebon vomit but it seems to always stay. </p><p>    From your sleeping nook of goosebump flesh and metal, you pull hair behind your ears. A snake piercing dangles orphic from your left ear - you often choose left whenever you can. Nudging at hair, you recall the moment that you were operating under watchful cartoon eyes only to have your face seized by large gloves. Bendy was - still is - easily mystified by swaying ebon coils and white fangs, they confuse him. He asks for one at the time but is crestfallen when your future attempt only sinks into his volatile skin. You resolve it by giving him a snake bracelet which he hides under the fabric of his gloves -fond.</p><p>With sluggish motions, you look up at the achromatic version of yourself. An index finger lifting, you tap against the ink skull. Your greeting is just a bit tinier.<em> Hey. </em></p><p>His face - your face actually - breaks into a wide grin. “Didn’t mean to scare yous, Y/n. You know I was only playin’.” With a motion, as if he is zipping off his snakeskin impression, Bendy brings the pointy triangle of two fingers over your chest. His appearance changes and moves like watching ink in ripples - an appropriate simile in use. With the fluidity of sweeping cards or streamlined sequin, he simply wills himself into a facade of anyone. </p><p>Despite this, his voice is constant and it makes you smile, to know he is still underneath all the outfits of replications that he can dress up with. He is always underneath the black and white waves.</p><p>He is now in his own skin, sprouting jet-black horns and an engulfing cartoon smile. “Yous know what Joey says about slacking off. Yous a lucky ‘dat I caught you here or the Queen of Hearts would have had your head.” He looks down at his gloves as if checking nails, obviously pleased at him.</p><p>“I wasn’t slacking, I was only shutting my eyes.” You watch amusement flicker over his face and  you quickly spring to the defense. “I was <em> not </em>sleeping. I wasn’t!” Sombering, you remember what had had you pinching your eyelids tight as water spread wafer-thin on grim hands. A frown manifests.</p><p>“I haven’t even been in here for a minute and yous already sad,” he gasps, trying to make light of your sudden dark. He sees you scrutinizing and knows it’s the wrong tactic. “So, what has you so blue?”</p><p>You don’t bother to tell him you just finished weighing the heart of a child - born from the demonic womb six feet in height and with jagged teeth like white stalactites - on a scale, it seems a little melodramatic to you. Instead, you respond like this. “I’m just having trouble keeping Boris stable, drying ink and that stuff. Got lost in my thoughts and feel asleep here.”</p><p>“If only someone wrote a book on ink demon biology.” Bendy muses with a pinched expression. Your eyes must beam with intrigue because he quickly goes “, no, no, I don’t have one. Hell, no one has the chance to write one before us.”</p><p>Deflating, your chin moves back to its roost in your elbow. It rings evermore true - this process of trying to decipher ink demon biology was going to kill. Joey Drew had hired you to stabilize all his creations and gave you freedom to study a species unseen before. Yet, here you were, having to scrape up the used ebon liquid of Boris and recycle it into the amber portal-like mouth of the Ink Machine, no closer to progress after months of research. </p><p>Sensing your evident stress, Bendy pushes one hand over your shoulder as if to be a heretic reminder of his existence. As an atheist, you do not bother to pray but rather hope that Bendy is not the one you will have to throw into the Ink Machine and rebuild. It <em>hurts</em> to remake each memory again and again for him.</p><p>“I-I just worry, you know.”</p><p>In the moment, you remember the room that always makes Thomas Connor skin itchy with invisible roaches and spiders. A while ago, curiosity lured you to the bolted (with a petite birch cross) door as you tapped a tiny hello into the sepia wood. The fact - certainty in acute hearing - that you received <em> two </em>responses haunts you, non-verbal in morse-code and the other verbal in a dog whine.</p><p>As Bendy lifts up his knuckles, you think of all the foolish love you harbor for him as he knocks on the threshold of your head. <em> It is going to be okay. </em>You shift your eyes, find the glittering surface of an autopsy aspirator, and ache. Has anything been that way to start?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just something quick I revised from 2018, took like an afternoon to finish so it was pretty simple.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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